December Boys
by moondogfics
Summary: A story about the life of Remus Lupin. Multi-chaptered. Contains SLASH RemusxSirius : be warned. Deals with prejudices, homosexuality and else. And also be warned, for I am not a native english speaker.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The first part of my chaptered story 'December Boys'. Still a WIP. Enjoy!  
**

**(C): Lyrics by Peter Cincotti, 'December Boys'. Harry Potter, its whole universe, belongs to the wonderful JKR. This is merely my POV, on what could have happened.**

* * *

**December Boys - 1?**

**I. but nothing was easy but i would do it all again and never change a thing**

_11th September 1971,_

_Kings Cross - Platform 9 3/4_

Remus sits by the window, small and lost in the red leather seat too big for him, mouth open and staring at the platform. His nose and hands are pressed against the cool glass; his breathing goes rather quickly - as if he was afraid he might swallow it - and through his hot breath, the window steams up. Outside on the platform are his parents, looking back at him with eyes as wide as his. It is the first time they part, it is the first time he is out of the house; it is the first time he will not sleep in his own bed. The thoughts swirl around crazily in Remus' brain, making him still more uncomfortable and insecure as he already feels. He fixes his gaze on his parents once more as he forces the thoughts aside; he must memorize this very moment the best he can. He does not know what will await him where he goes, but he knows that it is better to have something he can conjure up before his closed eyes to comfort him. He concentrates, and closes his eyes to give it a try, half his face still pressed against the cool glass. Blackness regards him, and he thinks Mum and Dad and Must concentrate. For a moment there is only silence he hears and the coolness of the glass under his fingertips, under his mouth, and then there are two faces; a man who smiles at him, tall and lanky, with glasses, dark brown hair and blue eyes. His smile is not encouraging; it is anxious, it says When they hurt you I can't be there, it is doubtful and nervous. The woman's face he sees offers a very different one. There are laugh lines and crinkles in the corner of her eyes as her mouth forms into a wide and encouraging smile, and in her green eyes he finds hope and belief.

Warmness surges through Remus' body almost immediately and a tiny smile breaks out on his face, and he has to open his eyes to look at his parents again. His mother waves and now grins at him, red spots on her cheeks because she is so happy. She mouthes something he does not understand and so he shakes his head, still smiling a bit. His gaze wanders to his father whose smile has not changed. Remus wants to go outside and hug his father, wants to make his smile happy and his eyes brighten. He hesitates for a moment, turns around and looks at the empty compartment. He could go out; but then, he undoubtedly would run danger to not get back inside punctually, and then he would miss... everything. As much as he likes to do it, he feels he must not. He can not. Everything is too much to lose, especially when it is always just about Everything Or Nothing. Nothing is what he has now, even though he does indeed sit in the Hogwarts Express (which is a wonder by itself); but he does not dare to hope falsely, for things can change from one second to another. And Nothing is what he will have, should he go outside and miss the train.

Sighing, he turns back, and startles a bit when he sees his parent's faces, now very close to the window. Thoughts hastily thrown aside, Remus hurries forward and presses his face to the glass again, giving in for a moment to the longing just to take his luggage and to run away. He is torn apart between staying here and having to face the unknown, both dangerous and frightening, but the Absolute Chance - and going, going back home, alone and an outcast again, but wonderfully safe and warm and loved. His nose hurts quite a bit as he presses his face yet harder against the window, as if it would suddenly vanish and let him through to his parents. Against his ribcage, his heart starts racing and his eyes suddenly water. He whimpers, "Mum", "Dad". Closing his eyes and pressing his lips together, he tries not to cry; but it does not help, because the tears are already there, pressing through his eyes and staying there for a moment, only to run down his cheeks, and to fall from there to his knees. He never wants to open his eyes again, he never wants the train to leave; for like this, he can both be at home with his parents close, and he would not have to abandon this chance, while sitting here in this compartment. It is not an ideal solution, he knows this, and yet it is the only one he can think of that he could bear.

A soft knock against the window from outside, and he does open his eyes. His mother's eyes are all he can see, on level with his own, and he loses himself in them, forgetting all about staying and leaving and running away. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can dimly see his mother's hands moving where her mouth is. He does not look down, though, for all he can think of is how he loves the green of her irises. They stay like this for a moment, but then his mother withdraws and Remus opens his mouth in protest. Before he can say something, she smiles again and puts both her hands on the glass. He understands and does the same, and they are hand against hand, and he wishes the glass was not there, so that he could feel her warm hands against his cool ones. Slowly she guides her hands downwards, and his follow hers, as if drawn by a string; downwards, downwards, downwards, until she pulls her hands back. He is confused by now, but he does not follow her example, and leaves his hands where they are. His eyes are fixed on six words; words in mirror-writing, in a cloud of his mother's breath, having made the glass steamed up. It takes him a moment to be able to read it:

_We are so proud of you._

He looks up and sees his mother crying and his father has his arms tightly wrapped around her. Trembling curses through Remus' entire body, shaking him once and then disappearing. He feels nauseous, he realizes, and on his palms and forehead there is cold sweat. The urge to just go back to his parents is stronger than ever; it is rooted in every fingertip and toe and it pulls at him unpleasantly with silent force.

Oh, it would be so easy to give in, to run away.

But something stops him, hinders him. Something feels wrong about this, about this being easy. Ever since the incident that changed their lives, nothing has been easy for them. Though being completely employable, the Ministry of Magic ensured, hardly days after the incident, that no one should take on the parents of a monster; so they lacked money in every possible corner imaginable – and yet, somehow, they managed to survive. They fought and did not retreat: they did not give up, even with the whole Wizarding Society against them, with starvation and desperation and isolation among every breath.

Nothing is easy, nothing at all. And this, this would not be easy, too.

It would certainly be the hardest time of his life.

Remus would have to learn harder than every other student; he was intelligent, very much so, but his intelligence was more based on experience and the reading of books, rather than natural brilliance. And he would need top grades, when after school he would just want a moderate job; if any job at all, due to his affliction. He would have to lead a life made of lies, to make living among others in his age possible. He would never be able to smile without a doubt, for fear anyone might look behind the mask and see what he really is. He would have to be alone, secluded, and books would probably be his only companions. He would have to forsake the joy of friends, even if there would be a lot of children in his own age. He has learned that it is easier to be on your own and to only trust yourself. Others bring only disappointment and anguish, and he has seen enough of that.

He can not trust anyone but his parents; who are always there for him, who accept and even love him, despite what he is, despite the fact that he is not human.

_We are so proud of you._

Nothing is easy, nothing at all. And this, this would not be easy, too.

It would certainly be the hardest time of his life.

He inhales deeply, closes his eyes as there is a loud whistling. The whole train rumbles, rattles and the voices of excited and sad children, crying Goodbyes to their parents, reach his ears. Whistling again, then rumbling and whistling, and the train starts to move, slowly.

He opens his eyes, looks at his parents for a last time. His mother is still crying, but she manages to smile for him, in defiance of her own hopelessness; his father has an arm around her, and with the other he waves. He smiles, and his smile is the same as his wife's: unsure, anxious and lost, and yet happy and blazing with hope for the chance that was given them, and they both secretly burst with pride for this little boy who has endured so much, and yet never fails to look forward and to smile; as he does now.

The Hogwarts Express moves faster now, and the last thing Remus sees are his parents: by now, two tiny figures, waving wildly. He raises an arm and waves as well. Far too late, but he thinks it is better to do it now, than to do it never. "Goodbye," he whispers, and stares out of the window for long.

Then Remus sits back on the red leather seat, which is not as big as in the beginning anymore. He wipes his tears away and pulls out a heavy book of his bag, and puts it in his lap. He looks around the still empty compartment again, and then he props his feet on the seat opposite of him, shoes still on. His parents would not approve if they saw that, it really is something one does not do. But it is so comfortable, he thinks, and how can such a thing be wrong?

A small grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines his parent's indignant would-be faces; and he quickly opens the book and regards Oliver Twist, who will share this first journey ever with him.

It can not be that bad, if books are going to be his only companions. They always have something from home, even though he does not know why.

And for now, Oliver is enough.

- - -


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The second part of my chaptered story 'December Boys'. Still a WIP. Enjoy!**

**(C): Lyrics by Peter Cincotti, 'December Boys'. Harry Potter, its whole universe, belongs to the wonderful JKR. This is merely my POV, on what could have happened.**

* * *

**December Boys – 2?**

**ii. the time of open hearts  
the time before the rest of life begins  
the learning who we are**

_September 1976, Hogwarts_

- - -

Remus wakes up to a dark room.

He knows it is dark even with his eyes shut; if it were day, there would be voices around him, laughter possibly, and there would be another weight than his on the bed, someone sitting close to his feet – and he would be lying on a bed himself, and not on hard ground. It is still and silent here, wherever he is, the only sound to be heard the whistling wind, and the rhythmic rain.

Something is wrong.

He knows that immediately. It is not only that he can not feel his body, can not open his eyes – his heart is racing in frantic, compulsive bursts, throwing itself against his ribcage. A dull pressure is in his chest, or where he thinks his chest is. He smells fear in the air, and it makes the rushing of his blood go faster, makes it boil. He can taste blood, too, slightly salty and metal-like, as he traces the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

He stands up then, mechanically, all sensibility abandoned as his limbs move on their own; instinct takes over. He still can not feel his body, but he can open his eyes now, and darkness fills his vision. Distinctly he can make out a four poster bed with torn sheets, and loose boards lying around. It is a filthy room, dirty and rotten and he hates it; it cages him, and keeps him from his prey. This room is a curse.

Turning around, he meets the wooden door, barricaded – and growling, he throws himself against it, with all force he can muster. Must get out of here, is all he thinks, and he hauls himself up, against the door – falling, standing up, stumbling, his vision blurry and he feels dizzy, and he thinks of gnawing at bones and smelling trees and earth and running under the moon. Again, getting up, against the door, and oh it hurts, but he does it again and again.

Then there is a quiet crack as his shoulder breaks apart, and he screams in agony. Pain explodes close to his tailbone, and he frantically throws his head from side to side, trying to escape it all. The pain transforms into fire, and it is crawling up his spine, and he burns from the inside as his own screams are thrown back at him from the wedging walls. He whimpers and curses and howls and spits, and with his other shoulder he is slumped against the door now, and his face contorts under torture as he bites into the door, crack-crack-crack it goes, splinters in his gums as his teeth scrape over the wood; a vain attempt to reach freedom.

Something is wrong, he can feel it, with every anguished muscle he moves, with every breath he draws in – he should not be alone, not tonight, and there should be flesh he could bite in, not wood, and he could be tearing apart muscular fibres with his claws now.

He is shaking as the memories of the earlier night overwhelm him:

_A pale boy with greasy black hair looking at Him in horror, and a bespectacled boy that smelled so familiar – and He was so torn apart, yes, this unbearable lust to rip the first boy apart, so sweet and so powerful, to bite him, was driving Him mad, but the other boy's scent kept Him back, made Him feel like this was not right, and He took a step forward on His paws, teeth bared and growling dangerously, saying Get Out Of The Way – and suddenly, yet another boy – this boy who was inside of Him, he screamed at Him not to do this, He must not, He could not, but the Wolf was too powerful, so He sneered at the boy, pushed him aside, this silly boy who was His alter ego, that thought he was a part of Him, but really, he was just a parasite, and the Wolf would take what was rightfully His – they had kept Him away from wonderful raw meat, too long – and now He would not let go of the prey that was so close – He could smell it – He could taste the blood with every breath – this was His prey, it waited for Him, it was _so_, so close -_

He falls on his back on the floor, and is unconscious.

- - -

He sleeps for a very, very long time.

- - -

The second time he awakes, he awakes in the infirmary; Madam Pomfrey is sitting on a stool beside his bed, watching him warily.

He does not open his eyes. Something is pounding in his head, and his whole body is stiff and aching. He does not stir. There are pictures again, creeping silently into his vision, there are scenes of the Wolf raging and two boys running down a narrow tunnel, then again of the Wolf, snapping and biting at his own flesh in utter frustration. There is blood, staining his fur, and his own flesh, pinkish and glistening.

Remus opens his mouth, and inhales deeply.

"Madam Pomfrey," he says calmly. "Is anyone hurt?"

"No, dear," she hastily replies and her voice sounds hoarse, as if she had used it up for yelling. "No one is hurt."

He feels her overheated hands on his cool forehead, and he opens his eyes a bit.

"...Did the headmaster say that he wishes to expel me?"

"No," she says again and this time her voice is sharp. "You certainly will not be expelled."

"Alright," he mumbles, more for the need of saying something, rather than believing her.

They are quiet, until Madam Pomfrey gets up, and leaves the room. Remus does not do anything but lying there and staring at the wall. Then he moves his head to the left, now looking upon the bedside table, which is not as high as the bed. On its white surface, he can see the corpses of four flies.

"I wanted to rip him apart," he says loudly to the flies. "I wanted to kill Severus."

The flies do not reply.

He closes his eyes, just as Madam Pomfrey returns with a glass in her hand. She sits down and opens her mouth to say something, as he forestalls.

"I wanted to kill him," he repeats and his voice is shaking now. "I wanted to kill him. I wanted to tear his skin apart and I wanted to drink his blood."

His hands grasp for the bedsheet, and he tries not to claw at it.

"I wanted to see him dying, in front of my feet."

"You should sleep now," Madam Pomfrey says softly, and one of her hands reach for his face, turning it with light force into her direction. "I was able to heal your broken shoulder, and restore most of the blood you had lost, but you do need to sleep."

Remus nods, and she smiles a bit, raising the glass.

"What about James," he suddenly says and sits up hastily, ignoring the stinging pain in his whole body. "What about Peter, what about Sirius?"

"They know of it, of course," she says after a moment. "But you do need your sleep now."

"Why was Severus -"

"You do need to sleep."

"How did he know -"

"Don't worry about that now."

"Who told him, because someone must have, and -"

"Mr. Lupin," Madam Pomfrey says firmly. "This is not yours to worry about."

His head nearly bursts with headache, and his heart races.

"It is," he presses on, and tries to sound as polite as possible, to cover the trembling. "I am very well involved in that."

"You need to sleep," she says again and as he opens his eyes, to look at her directly, hers flinch away. "You may worry about it when the time comes, but for now it is more important for you to recover."

He tries very, very hard to keep his propriety. He starts grinding his teeth, and he pulls at the sheet violently; she does not see it, because his hands are covered by the blanket.

"Madam Pomfrey," he tries it again. "I should be informed about the circumstances, for-"

She smiles.

"You should not. It was not your fault, and you do not need to worry, it was -"

It was not his fault.

He does not need to worry.

And, she smiles.

"IT WAS ME! I WANTED TO KILL SEVERUS!"

In the end, Remus spits out the words and it borders on yelling. His breath comes out quickly, and his head pounds more than ever. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, only to speak again afterwards.

"Madam Pomfrey," he does not look at her anymore. "Please."

There is silence again, until she sighs. She looks at him with sad eyes, and her smile is bitter.

"You promise me to sleep afterwards."

She does not wait for an answer; she simply goes on.

"Mr. Snape obviously,... he obviously got a hint from someone who knows about you; and he thought it was most interesting to – to figure you out, so he went down to the Whomping Willow, and he knew of the knot -"

"But how," he interrupts her. Something foul stirs in his stomach and bile is rising in his throat, as well as suspicion. "How did he know that, how could he get down there -"

"The point is, Mr. Lupin," she says and ignores him. "He saw you. He knows about you. And it was not easy to, to negotiate about this matter. Of course, the Headmaster did his best, and the first he said was that you certainly will not be expelled. You are right, you are the one who wanted to kill Mr. Snape, that is correct - - but you had no choice – you did not do this willingly."

He feels like he needs to vomit.

This woman, this woman does not know _anything_.

"However, Mr. Potter soon found out what Mr. Snape intended, and he recognised the danger. He went after him, risking his own life, in order to save Mr. Snape. And he succeeded. Mr. Pettigrew meanwhile alerted the Head of your House, and therewith also Professor Dumbledore, who acted the very instant he knew of it. He came to me, and together we went down to the Whomping Willow, to check on everyone involved. Mr. Potter and Mr. Snape had luck, very much of it, but you – well, you nearly killed yourself. You are lucky to have survived."

A matter of opinion, Remus thinks.

"The Headmaster talked to the boys, and as far as I know, no harm is done. There will be detention served, for – for certain misdeeds, but no one is expelled. From now on the Headmaster of course will pay more heed to any of you. I suppose, we just took it too lightly... we should have taken more precautions and..."

He does not listen anymore. And also, he feels strangely calm; he knows his guess must be correct.

"So it was Sirius?"

Madam Pomfrey stops speaking.

After a while, she says "Yes. Apparently he told Mr. Snape about the knot."

Ah.

Well.

It makes sense.

It bothers him that he wants to laugh now.

His sense of humour has always been queer, and his friends have not helped with that. Remus John Lupin The Bastard, he thinks, who has been fucked considerably profound by fate, is also a proper Arsehole; he could not care any less that he feels happier about his friends not being expelled, rather than to worry for the life of Severus Snape.

He turns around to Madam Pomfrey and smiles at her.

"Thank you. And yes, I would wish to sleep, please."

She smiles in return, raises the glass silently and brings it to his lips and he swallows the cool, orange liquid. There is a soft "Good night" he can hear, and before dimness enwraps him, he listens to the fading footsteps.

He turns his head aside, opens his eyes, and looks at the dead flies once more.

Before his body feels very heavy, he thinks that the flies have vanished; instead, there are a rat, a stag, a dog and a wolf, watching him. He regards the dog with a stern glance, and the anger stirs up hotter in his stomach, and mixes with anxiety.

Then all goes black.

- - -

"Remus?"

He is instantly awake. His eyes snap open, and he stares at the ceiling.

"Come on, get up. I have Whisky."

He lies still for a while. His body does not hurt anymore, it is pleasantly warm. The only hint that something is not right, is that his body feels far too light. Without hesitating, he moves his shoulder and is content as there is no pain. Madam Pomfrey seemingly did not promise too little.

"And fags – of course, only if you want."

Remus pushes aside the blanket, and straightens.

"I hope for your own sake that you have enough of the latter."

James grins at him.

- - -

The sky is clear and coloured strangely in a mixture of pale blue, gray and orange-red. The air is cool, and there is no wind.

It is soft and wet, the grass under his body, and the bottle in his hand makes it impossible for him to freeze; Whisky is good for quite a few things, but it still works at its best when it is about increasing body temperatures. So Remus feels nearly cozy, lying on the dew drunken grass, and very light headed. James is sitting beside him, his back against the Oak Tree, one elbow propped up on his knee, and a fag dangling loosely out of his mouth.

Remus watches with slightly shut eyelids the smoke that comes out of James' nostrils: it flows into the air, above their heads, still one cloud, holding together, until it flies further upwards, loosening, and then it is gone.

"You think that'll ever happen to us?"

James looks at Remus from the side. "What exactly?"

Remus raises his free hand, and waves vaguely at the sky. "That... there."

"What there?" James looks at Remus' hand and raises an eyebrow. When he finds nothing, he takes another slow drag of the fag.

"Prat," drawls Remus and then laughs. "You're as thick as Slughorn is fat. No wonder Evans'll never go out with you."

"Ho ho," James sits up now and takes out the fag. "Young man, thus are no words a Prefect worthy of Gryffindor House should ever speak out loud."

"Prefect my arse," Remus smiles up lazily at James and nudges James' leg with his elbow. "Exchange? You want the Whisky?"

"Well, I'm not as thick as you think," James laughs. "You just want the fag for yourself, you addict."

"If I'm an addict, it's not my fault," Remus says and snorts. James shifts a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position, and Remus, for a moment, has full view of his bottom. James' trousers are stained with grass, and wet. "Prongs, I didn't know you still piss in your pants. By all our friendship is worth, there are limits, so please get your wet arse out of my face."

"Lick it, and you know what's a premium arse," comes James' reply and he shifts again, to eventually lie beside Remus on the grass. "But my arse aside now. What should I think will happen to us?"

"Oh. You know, that. See the smoke going up in the air?" He makes a vague gesture again. "At first, all that, that smoke things, they're all together, a fine bunch of wankers, completely glued to each other's side."

"Sounds familiar," grins James.

"The thing is, you know, when you look at them – now, they're still one but – yeah, that. You see? They sort of... vanish into the air, as if they weren't there at all. They're just not there anymore, they're, like, they're gone."

"The smoke things?"

"Yeah, them."

"Smoke isn't plural, Remus," James smirks. "But anyway, that's what smoke does."

"Fuck off, Potter."

"Forgive me, my darling addict," James says. "Here is your precious fag."

Remus' hand grasps around in the wet grass for a moment, before making its way up James' leg and staying there. With "You lazy git", James hands it over to him and slowly Remus brings the fag to his lips.

"You bit it," he murmurs as he licks over the end of it. "I'm an addict and you're a maniac."

"Yeah," James says and then Remus closes his eyes, taking a deep drag of the fag and feeling relief creeping up his body. Worry and confusion and anger wash away, leaving him thinking and feeling nothing. Silence engulfs them, and there is only his own breath he hears, the pale blue sky to see and the wetness of the grass under his palm and naked feet. They lie there, for a long time, until the blue fades, and the sky turns red. Remus has closed his eyes by now, and he is utterly still and silent.

Then he feels ash falling on his chin and throat, and a hand that immediately follows it, brushing the ash away. Remus blinks and turns his head to his right, to find James bent over him slightly.

"When I saw you that night," James murmurs, "I was afraid."

Remus turns his face to stare into the sky, and absently prods James' knee. "'S there another fag?"

Wordlessly, James rummages in his trouser pocket for a moment, and hands Remus one. Remus takes it into his now shaking hand, and with a murmured "Incendio", the end of the fag lightens. Closing his lips around the dry material, Remus takes a deep drag and continues to stare at the sky.

"Of you. For you. I don't know," James goes on speaking, and his voice sounds distant. Then he suddenly laughs; throaty and wicked. "But hell, you had teeth, what teeth. And you were big."

"Nice to know I could impress you," Remus smiles wryly. "But you've seen me before."

"Not like that." He feels James shifting beside him. "Not like that, Moony."

Remus puffs on the fag again. Smoke comes out of the corners of his mouth and flows in the air, weightless and carefree and Remus watches it and thinks before it disappears, it looks like a dog. 

"I know."

He does not really want to listen anymore. He knows where it will end, how it will end; it has ended like that before. Actually, it has always ended before it ever began.

Maybe he just tried his luck too much, pushed it too far.

"I thought we wouldn't make it."

James' voice is but a whisper, and Remus nearly can not hear it.

"Yeah," he says because he does not know what else to say. "Yeah, I thought the same."

James is silent, and watches him through his glasses. Remus can feel his gaze, scrutinizing him, searching for something. He can hear his own breath as clear and as loud as he can feel the racing pulse in his temple. A shudder runs through his body, and he wonders since when it has become this cold.

"Want Whisky?" James asks, as if reading his mind, sits up and grabs for the Whisky himself. When Remus does not react, he shrugs and drinks a good measure. There is a smacking sound when his lips leave the bottle, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. After a moment of silence, he says:

"I could feel it, Remus."

"Feel what?" Remus is calm, as ever, but he is biting back the urge to scream 'Shut up, you don't understand'.

James does not respond immediately. He looks at Remus again. Remus tries to ignore it.

"I very well understand, Remus," James says and Remus thinks, that bastard, as he sees a smile on James' lips. "And you should as well, by now."

Remus fancies to believe he has indeed spoken out loud his thoughts.

"Understand what?"

"I could feel it," James says again and ignores Remus' question. "I could feel it, when the wolf was in front of me -- when you were in front me. It was so plain. And it was so obvious, the whole time, I've just never realised it. And it even makes sense."

Remus raises his eyebrows, and turns his head very slightly to James. There is a dull pressure in his stomach, building up steadily, and a bit of bile in his throat. The fag suddenly does not taste good anymore.

"If you told me," Remus takes the fag out of his mouth, "what it is you speak about, I could maybe follow you, and, you know, I could reply. We could exchange sentences, ergo meanings, and actually have a conversation."

"Stop the games, Moony," James murmurs and bends down to Remus again. "Playing-time is over."

"Has it begun yet?" He tries to keep his voice light, tries to keep the acid out of it, tries to not haul himself at James and punch this ridiculous glasses off of James' face. He tries to keep cool, he forces himself not to move away as James comes yet closer.

"I know it. You can't hide anymore."

He feels the urge of jerking away now stronger than ever. James' face is close to his, and Remus keeps his eyes determinedly on the sky.

"I know it, Moony."

Four more words, and Remus can not do it anymore. He jumps up, breathing heavily and eyes squeezed shut. Then he roars, while feeling waves of heat rushing through his body: "FUCKING SAY IT! AND NO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, YOU DON'T KNOW HALF OF THE SHIT THERE IS!"

"I know the whole shit now," James says calmly and seems untouched by Remus' yelling. He stands up as well, regarding Remus with a keen glance.

"So what it is, Mr. I-Know-Better?" Remus hisses, and grits his teeth. "Fucking go on already, if you're so brilliant."

"It's not about who knows better. It's not about brilliance. It's about trust, Remus."

"Trust, is it?" Remus spits. "I wonder what you know of it."

"More than you do, apparently," and now James' voice is cool. "Because you don't. You don't trust us."

Remus does not know whether to feel panicked of relieved.

There is only one thing he can think clearly of: If he did trust someone, he would get hurt. Just like that.

An ironic smile creeps on his lips, as he thinks that. Well, he did not, does not, need to trust them, in order to get hurt. It proved to have worked very well without trust.

"So where's the problem?" He looks back at James, ready to take the fight. "It's not like -"

"You should know I can read your thoughts," James comments, interrupting him. "I can feel what you think, and right now you think it wouldn't have changed a thing, if you had trusted us."

Remus is taken aback for a moment. But then, he gathers his wits again and shakes his head.

"Well, it wouldn't, would it? It would still have -- happened, and then, it would have hurt, to, to have been betrayed by those... by those you trust." He purses his lips, ignoring the feeble way his heart pumps. A tasteless laugh crawls onto his lips. "The fuck is, James, you think it's a game. You think the Wolf isn't me. You think, you think, it's all funny, to run with a wolf and to make mischief and to fuck with everyone and to laugh about them, because they don't know of this. But it isn't a game, James. And if you don't get it, well, then keep the shit you're about to say for yourself."

Then James is silent, and does not look him into the eyes. Remus stands before him, pose ready to pounce, still breathing heavily, and hands clenched into fists. He thinks a thousand things, but can not shape one particular thought, and there is a dim feeling of nausea in him he does not like at all. It is, he realizes, either going on and losing them, or going back and begging for forgiveness.

It does not take him long to decide.

"James," he murmurs after a moment, and makes a step towards the other boy, quickly gaining back control, from years of practise. His voice is smooth and light, and he pushes off the nausea and the pain, pushes it back to where it can not reach him. "James, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, it just, it just came out -"

"It hurts, doesn't it," James interrupts again and looks up at Remus with a strange expression. "It hurts, to be betrayed."

"Not when I don't trust you, no."

"It hurts," James repeats. "It hurts, because I can feel it myself. I thought you trusted us, and well, you don't. That's, that's betrayal, that's –"

" – Stupid, James," Remus tries to reason with him. "It doesn't concern you, and even though you saved Snape's life, me being a werewolf is nothing you have –"

"I didn't save Snape for nobleness," James sneers suddenly and looks Remus defiantly in the eyes. "I didn't save the bastard because I care about him. I saved him, because, because if I didn't, it's us that would've been arsed."

"Not you," Remus murmurs. "It would've been me."

"IT'S THE FUCKING SAME!" James eventually explodes. "JUST GET IT! IT'S THE SAME, YOU IDIOTIC –"

"It isn't," Remus tries it with patience once more. "How often do I have to say it – it has nothing to do with you, nothing at all, it's all just my issue to deal with, and it's been my fault that it happened in the first place; to have stayed here when you found out about me, that's – "

"FUCK YOU!" James yells and comes closer. "FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING PROPRIETY –"

James is too close, Remus dizzily realizes, and then he feels a shove against his shoulder, and he staggers back, wanting to ask what is up, when James' hands are suddenly flat on Remus' chest. Then James pushes against him with slight violence, and Remus is thrown off balance at the surprising force, and he falls down hard. It does not take another two seconds, and James is straddling him.

"WE'RE A SODDING PACK, YOU ARSE! WE DIDN'T BECOME ANIMAGI FOR NO REASON!"

Remus' left eyelid starts to twitch, and as quickly as he gained back control, he loses it now. There is an unholy amount of anger welling up inside of him, mixing with disappointment and hatred and hurt, and he can not stand it. His face contorts and he tries to sit up, struggles against James, only to be pushed down again.

"Is it this you wanted," Remus hisses, "to see me fucked up? Is it that?"

"No," James replies and his breathing is going hard, and his face is red with rage. "It's not wanting to see you fucked up, it's wanting to see something of you that's real, for once."

Remus presses together his lips, and they disappear into a thin line, and then his eyes burn, and he gives pushing James away another try. James, despite being gangly, weighs quite a lot, and so it is no surprise that Remus is pushed into the grass yet again. James leans down, and Remus can smell alcohol and fags.

"Fuck you, Lupin," he snarls. "This is your last chance."

They stay like this for a long time, James breathing heavily, and Remus with his head turned to the side. It is dark by now, and there are stars in the sky, translucent, and yet glimmering slightly. Light rain falls down onto the earth, and it gets colder. Both boys are shivering with chill, and soon their hairs are plastered to their foreheads, and their clothes soaked.

James, despite staring relentlessly, is the one to break the silence.

"If that's your choice," James breathes, "then I'm disappointed. I'd've thought better of you, Lupin."

With that, he stands up and walks away.

Remus lies on the ground, which is mud by now, and thinks of nothing. He listens to James' footsteps, going away from him. Closing his eyes, up flickers an image of himself, alone in the dark, with no one around, and then there are people with their fingers pointing at him, and there are hands, balled into fists, and he feels a bruising pain as the people begin to hit him, to kick him, to spit on him – and he turns around and starts to vomit.

After a while, when his throat starts to burn, he feels a hand on his shoulder. James is back, he is there, kneeling beside Remus, pushing away the strands of Remus' hair as they fall into his face as he retches.

"I wanted," Remus pants and tears roll down his face. "I wanted to kill him."

"I know," James whispers. "I know."

"Why did Sirius – why did he – oh God, it hurts, it fucking hurts, -"

"Sirius is a dog, Moony," and James still speaks quietly. "He thought his territory was attacked, or some other shit. He's told me so himself. He said, when he met Snape, he didn't think, he could only think of us, and of how Snape always tries to get us expelled – well, then it sort of slipped out."

Remus stares at James for first, and then he starts to laugh, bitter and broken, tasting bile and gall in his mouth.

"It's not just you," James murmurs. "We're all fucked up. That's who we are."

And then Remus turns around, and he looks at James, still through tears.

"This is your pack. Whether you like it or not."

The words are so surreal, and yet they make sense. There is a delicate meaning on the inside, there is something no one else can grasp but them. It is their small universe, that shields them from the wicked and cruel reality. They are boys, thrown together, and the way they function together is both wonderful and scaring; it is not the first time that Remus thinks it, but it still frightens him, the thought of how close it is that they really are.

"If you still want to hear it," he says and his voice sounds like a croak. "I will try it. I will try to trust you."

Above them, the stars are out now and twinkling brightly.

- - -

He does not say, _I didn't mean it_.

He does not say,_ I'm sorry_.

He just looks at Remus with his gray eyes, and comes a step closer. His face is blank, and very pale, and his lips are too red and his hair is too black. He does not cry, but his eyes are glassy. When he moves, he holds no elegance: there is nothing of the casual grace of his.

He is so close that Remus can feel his breath, and he falls to his knees, and his arms wind themselves around Remus' waist. Remus can feel fingernails digging painfully into his skin and Sirius' head in the vicinity of his stomach. Neither of them moves.

Then, Sirius whispers:

"I didn't think. When I saw that git- it just went so fast, I couldn't think, I didn't, I only, I, I only remembered that he wanted to get us kicked out, and, and I couldn't let this happen, and then I said it – I only wanted to save you – I, I wanted to protect you – you're all I have, you're the only things I'm worth something for – but when I saw you lying on that bed, and Madam Pompfrey said, she said – nearly killed – and – I – I didn't think – and then, you –," a gasp, and Remus can feel Sirius' nose, digging against his ribs, "I, I didn't think, I still don't. I don't, I don't know what to do. I don't, I can't, - not – lose you all – and – ... I... I didn't think," he finishes rather slowly, as if realizing something, and then there is silence.

Sirius' hands lose hold of Remus' shirt, and he claws at it again and again, trying to keep the hold. Eventually they slip under the shirt, and Remus shudders at the feel of Sirius' icy cold hands against his skin. Sirius is shaking violently now, apparently not because he is so sorry, but because he could not bear to lose them. This thought softens Remus' mood, to a certain extent, and he feels his stomach clenching painfully as there is something wet against the front of his shirt; Remus can hear sobs, quiet, but they are there.

"Then you'd better start thinking, Padfoot," murmurs Remus and his hands wander in Sirius' hair, to stroke slowly. "That's what you do in a pack."

Remus knows Sirius, and he knows that Sirius promises a lot of things. He loves and he hates, and he praises and dismisses. Sirius is quick in judging, and he is dangerous and fierce and dark.

As he looks up at Remus now, Remus wonders if he has found someone who is like him.

And, Remus thinks that maybe, maybe he can make Sirius think.

"I give you trust," he says quietly and kneels down in front of Sirius. "But you must give me this: You must think. At least- at least try. Because I do, too."

Before Sirius can say something, Remus pulls him into a tight embrace, and he presses their bodies together. Sirius holds onto him as if he might drown, and Remus can hear all the things Sirius did not say, the things he maybe never will say, but with his open mouth breathing hotly against Remus' shoulder, and with his flat hands on Remus' back, Remus feels, for the moment, it is okay.

Because sometimes, words are just not enough.

- - -


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The third part of my chaptered story 'December Boys'. Still a WIP. Enjoy!**

**(C): Lyrics by Peter Cincotti, 'December Boys'. Harry Potter, its whole universe, belongs to the wonderful JKR. This is merely my POV, on what could have happened. **

* * *

**DECEMBER BOYS, 3?**

**iii.i the lines of broken dreams  
the lines dividing strangers from your friends  
they live in you and me**

- - -

_Late July, 1978 (On a hilltop close to Hogwarts)_

"See you next week!"

With two pops, James and Peter vanish into the air. Remus stares at the spot they Disapparated from, and feels yet wearier; his bones are aching badly, his body is heavy and his mind dizzy, like after every full-moon night. Sighing, he sits down under a tree nearby and leans at its trunk. Inhaling deeply, sleepiness fills his senses, and he finds it hard to stay awake.

"Tired?"

The voice startles him; his eyes snap open, and he sees Sirius, looking tired and worn out, standing in front of him. He grimaces and Sirius grins back, fully aware of that he shocked Remus.

"You bet," Remus mutters at length, still slightly dumbfounded. He wants to add something witty and funny, but as he eyes Sirius, he comments, "You look like you could do with some sleep yourself."

"After how you chased me last night," Sirius sits down beside him, "that's no bloody wonder, is it."

"Well..." Remus tries hard not to grin. "You know how Padfoot's barks always get me excited."

Sirius snorts. "If it were only my barks, I wouldn't need to flee every time Moony sees me."

"'S not my fault," Remus protests weakly. "It's not my fault that the Wolf has certain... urges."

"Who can tell? You can't remember, but once, Moony stared at Prongs' antlers for too long. Old Prongsie got mighty scared, by the by. And I've ever since wondered what you wanted to do with those antlers." Turning his head to Remus' side, he smirks. "But I guess we can be glad it were only Prongs' and not James' antlers."

"James' aren't big enough for Moony," Remus murmurs, easily going along with the banter. "Moony's already checked on that. Tell James he's better be hiding Prongs and not himself."

"Alright." Sirius shrugs, and their shoulders bump. With a weak grin, he says, "But really, 's just darn funny to always watch poor Moony running off his hackles to hump Padfoot. Oh, and do you remember the four poster bed in the Shrieking Shack?" Sirius asks all of a sudden, nudging Remus' shoulders.

Inwardly, Remus winces at the idea of what will come. "Surely."

"Bugger - that thing you always tried on that bed's legs," Sirius starts to laugh, "you tried it with me last night. Should've seen it, I was just fast enough to -"

"I got it," Remus grumbles. "Moony tried to mount Padfoot - there, glue to it to your forehead and be happy."

"I like that," Sirius admits after a pause. "The way you talk when you're pissed off and all sleepy. 'Mount', where did that come from, Mr Wolfie?"

"God, don't call me_that_," Remus grimaces, protesting in an unconvincing way. "Don't we have stupid enough nicknames already? And it's not my fault anyway, you started talking about us having hypothetical canine sex."

"Which very nearly became very, very practical sex," Sirius mumbles under his breath, and then blinks. "Hypothetical canine sex?" he repeats blankly and stares at Remus; only to explode laughing almost instantly afterwards. "Gosh, Moony - you could just say fuck, or bugger, or shag - but, but THAT!"

Remus feels silly to have said it, not only due the funny topic; his body is tormenting him with that overwhelming exhaustion once again, and his limbs are hanging uselessly and heavily at his side. Sirius' laughing does not really help that matter; it is too loud and hurts his ears. Lowering his eyelids, he murmurs "Shut up, Padfoot", not really thinking it would help something. But miraculously, Sirius hears it: peering over to Remus, he apparently realizes that his friend is feeling really low. The laughter dies down to occasional chuckling, until it ends completely.

Remus listens to Sirius' breath, coming slightly unsteady, and relaxes, feeling pleasantly drowsy; thinking of nothing in particular.

"It's freaking cold out here," Sirius says quietly after a while. "I hope we won't stay for another night."

"You could go," Remus murmurs half-heartedly. "I don't force you to stay."

"And you certainly don't need to." Sirius retorts surprisingly sharply and, watching Remus for a moment, opens his mouth to say something else, but no words come out. Instead, he seems driven by an idea as he shifts; lying down on the ground with his back, he flops down his head into Remus' lap, causing Remus to yelp and to feel awake once more.

"You could give a man a warning!"

"As if I care," Sirius sighs, but grins contritely up at Remus. "Anyway, for someone so bony you're quite a cosy pillow."

"I thank you humbly." Remus says drily and observes Sirius; now having closed his eyes, there are less traces of exhaustion in his face, but the way he curls his legs slightly in and brings his hand to rest under his head, tells Remus that he must be very tired indeed: it is the same he usually does before sleeping. Remus tries to be angry at getting disturbed in his sleepiness, but as he watches Sirius wrinkling his nose, he forgets all about it.

"One thinks you're the one who went through a night of cracking bones and memory-loss," he points out, trying to keep up a conversation now that he is awake, "and not me."

"You have me to tell you what indecent things you did, so don't fret, my precious pillar, or you'll get all creased."

"Oh, shut up." murmurs Remus miserably and gives Sirius' head an affectionate shove. "I wish you'd just leave."

"I won't," Sirius grins at the air, still with closed eyes, blatantly happy with the general situation. "Someone's gotta look after you."

Despite the smugness of Sirius' voice, there is a tone to it Remus easily recognizes: sleepiness and exhaustion. So he keeps quiet as Sirius shifts his head to side from side, trying to find a more comfortable position. Remus smiles unconsciously at that picture, and pleasant quietness falls over him once more. Eventually he lifts his gaze.

Around him, everything is green: wonderful trees and wide grass fields, stretching out before his eyes, unfolding like a story in a book. Above him, the sky is a pale, subtle shade of dark blue, and the stars are disappearing. Looking straight ahead, there is Hogwarts, the castle in all its glory and yet so strangely small over the distance; its outlines shimmer with rich yellow, orange and red, due to the rising sun it covers; it is a wonderful picture, like a drawing, Remus thinks dizzily and a dull pressure builds up in his chest, something blurred he can not name. It pulls at him, at his whole body, from his toes to the hairs on his neck; goosebumps creep up his arms and instantly he rubs them with his hands, trying to get the unpleasant shivering away.

His eyes are stinging, and he tries to not judge himself too harshly; he creates a mantra in his head of It is okay, It is okay to miss home. But however often he tells it to himself, the words do not help. He feels stupid and pathetic; instead of being a healthy young man, he is inhumane, a fucked up werewolf; instead of being happy about this new independence, he mourns for the past; instead of being everything he wants to and should be, he is a cowardly idiot, not daring to live, desperately keeping hold of what he still has; he loves his friends to a level that is ridiculous - which is not wrong in itself, but the concept behind it: he is not sure whether he could ever live without them. Every time he thinks of living on his own or having a job, he feels sick. Not only that he is a Werewolf - who would ever want to employ someone like him? The best job he could probably get is as cleaner -, he is also very afraid of meeting new people. Thoughts spin through his head: what if they do not like him? What if they get to know of his affliction? What if he loses his friends and will end up all alone -

"You alright?" Sirius' throaty voice throws him off balance; quickly he rubs his face with the balls of his hands, and looks down with glassy eyes. Sirius watches him closely through heavy lids, and seems actually slightly shocked; and Remus would laugh at his expression, still half-asleep, hair tousled, and his mouth a round 'O' - if he felt like it. Instead, he turns his head aside to avoid Sirius' gaze and mutters "Go back to sleep, nance", only wanting to be alone.

At first there is silence, and Remus almost dares to believe he might get away with it, when Sirius buries his head into Remus' jumper. And then Remus realizes he is wrong, from one second to another - too quick for him Sirius moves, his hands pulling up Remus' jumper, and suddenly there are his lips on Remus' skin - and he bites Remus. It does not hurt, but it is unpleasant, for there are Sirius' cold, big hands on his sides, keeping him in place, and Sirius' tongue in his navel is wet and slippery and is _tracing circles _-

"CHRIST!" Remus yelps and reacts instinctively; he breaks out laughing, his arms jerking wildly around, groping for Sirius' shoulders, trying to push him away. They extend into a genuine, but playful fight; rolling on their backs around in the grass, feet kicking and hands grasping for whatever part of body they can reach, trying to tickle or to hurt slightly, heads and elbows and knees knocking together. Though both being somewhat equally strong, Remus manages to get the upper hand and straddles Sirius at last. He has a hand in Sirius' mouth to keep him from saying something, or from shouting - or from whatever it is that Sirius plans - and both are breathing hard.

"What the shit was that?" Remus asks breathless and watches Sirius wide-eyed. He truly forgot about his hand in Sirius' mouth, until Sirius bites into his knuckles, and with an "Ouch", he quickly pulls it out.

"Just trying to do my job," Sirius grins weakly and licks his lips. "But you taste too salty anyway."

Too perplexed to the moment, Remus simply stares at him. Only when he recites Sirius' words in his head and tries to make out a meaning of it - he dimly remembers calling Sirius 'nance' - does he start to laugh again. "You're a nutter - you're -"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Sirius waves a hand, suddenly impatient. "But, did you really cry?" he asks, never to be tactful, with obvious worry and he pushes himself up on his elbows, still slightly breathless, his chest heaving up and down. "I mean, your eyes were all - all glassy, and stuff."

"Oh." Remus says intelligently and a blush creeps on his cheeks. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment, but decides that it can not get any worse. "Well, yeah - I mean, no -" Running a hand through his hair, he can not help feeling ridiculous. He inhales deeply and tries to ignore the feeble pumping of his heart. "I, just... I just miss Hogwarts."

Thinking 'Finally it's out', his eyes dart down to Sirius, already expecting him to laugh and to say 'You're the nance here'. However, to his surprise, Sirius simply says "Oh, I see" and looks actually thoughtful, which - against all reason and logic Remus ever experienced - makes Remus more nervous still. He looks away and murmurs, "I know I'm ridiculous."

"No you're not," Sirius says, understanding at once that with 'ridiculous', Remus does not only mean missing Hogwarts, but everything that is connected to it somehow. Quickly, he says, "Why would you be? You know how James came to my place just two days after Graduation and wouldn't want to leave for two weeks. He's a nance - he really sort of did wail, with whining noises - 'Sirius, we'll never piss off McGonagall again', 'Sirius, we'll never hex Snivelly again' -" and Sirius does a perfect imitation of a very wretched, high-pitched James, and Remus nearly instantly stops feeling all the bad things. As Sirius sees the ghost of a grin on Remus' face, he smiles, one of those very rare Sirius-growing-up smiles. "So you see, it's no deal."

Remus opens his mouth to add 'But what if I won't be able to get a job' and 'What if people hate me', but instead he says, "And what about you?"

"What 'what about me'?" Sirius raises his eyebrows.

"Do you-" Remus coughs. "You know, do you miss Hogwarts?"

"Oh - no," Sirius sounds genuinely honest, and also uninterested. "I don't."

"But - why not? Wasn't it like a home to you?"

"Moony, you should know by now," Sirius flashes Remus a toothy grin, but with a strange expression in his eyes Remus can not identify, "that my home is just wherever you guys are."

"Oh."

Remus feels strangely light-headed, still more so as before; he blames it on his lack for sleep and all the things floating around in his head.

- - -

- - -

_Middle of August, 1978_

"_Dear Mr Lupin,_

_...pleased about your interest..._

_...sorry to inform you that we are unable to employ you... but certain issues make us inevitably bound to return your letter this way... wished it could be different..._

_...hoping that you are well,_

_Yours sincerely..."_

"Sodding arses," James hisses and tears apart the letter without asking. "Hoping that you are well, my arse, what fucking dissemblers they are, they're racists, bloody -"

"It's alright, it's just another one of these standard Avoid-The-Werewolf-Letters," Remus says and grasps for a beer behind his couch. Instead of one, he gets two, handing James one of them and keeping one for himself. He leans back and props up his feet on the table, with his fingers loosely in his pocket, searching for cigarettes. "Jesus, where have I left my fags again?"

"Instead of smoking and drinking like an idiot you should buy some food," Peter points out, sitting on the floor to Remus' right and eyeing Remus critically. "You sure as hell lost somewhat like three pounds again, didn't you? Don't fool me, I can see it."

"And if?" Remus asks lightly and gives a quiet whoop of triumph as his fingers find something in his pocket. Fishing it out he finds that it is a cigarette indeed, but broken in two halves. Shrugging, he mutters a spell and one half lightens. Without troubling too much, he sticks it into his mouth, and closes his eyes. "Just what I needed."

Peter and James stare at him in disbelief, but they know it is no use to say anything else, so they busy themselves with their beers again. Remus watches them through a blurred vision, the fog contorting their shapes strangely. However, he notices them exchanging glances, and inwardly sighs at what he knows will come. He waits for a moment, and then there is - of course - James' not at all obvious cough, and Peter more or less jumping up and leaving the room with a mumbled "I need the loo". Remus grabs for the beer, brings it to his lips and swallows the bitter drink. Grimacing, he puts it beside him on the couch; he actually does not like beer, but once drinking enough of it, he does not even notice the bitter taste any more. And it is cheaper as Butterbeer, which means that there is more for him to drink.

"Look, James," he starts just as James has opened his mouth, and blows out smoke through his nostrils. "Just, don't. Alright?"

"Don't what," James asks, tries to sound innocent, but ends up with a weary tone in his voice. "Don't try to help you, because oh, look, we're no friends, or what -"

"What you just said," Remus says, pointing an accusing finger at James, "did not make any sense."

"Fuck the sense, Moony," James replies, trying to sound cool, but there are red spots of embarrassment on his cheeks. "All I'm trying to say is -"

"- That I should stop being all snobby and proud and just take your money? Thank you, but thank you, no."

"Well, then you're the one being arsed and without any sense," comes Peter's voice from the bathroom and both James and Remus quieten, looking at the bathroom with mild surprise.

It is still new to them; ever since they left Hogwarts, their Peter was another Peter than the one they thought they knew. Of the four of them, it is probably Peter getting along the best with living by himself. They still meet often, of course, and no one is as close to Peter as they are, but Peter has found other friends, is more confident, and says what he thinks out loud: another trait he has never shown. Remus feels slightly unnerved by it sometimes; it is as if some familiar pattern breaks apart, something he once could trust and confide in, and that now is changing and readjusting, and it is his turn to be flexible. And Remus is not only proud of himself for managing this well, because he is in fact being flexible: Remus is happy for Peter, and occasionally also proud of him.

But not so now, not with Peter betraying him.

"Get the fuck out of my bathroom, then," Remus snarls irrationally, the alcohol claiming its tribute. "If you think that, fucking get out of-"

"Jeez, keep cool, mate," Peter replies calmly but does come out of the bathroom, shaking his head. He sits down on the floor again, completely unaware of Remus' dangerous glances. "I just wanted to say that James is right and you're not. Look at the facts: James has his arse bursting with money, and it's coming out of his prick already, and you're practically starving, living in a flat not very," his lips quirk and he coughs, "not, well, not actually new and not very tidy, and if you get such an offer, gosh, why do you actually hesitate? I wouldn't," he adds after a moment of consideration, and, shaking his head again, takes a sip from his beer.

"Tell me who you are," James says bluntly, clearly not being able to hold back, and goggling at Peter, "and what's happened to our Peter?"

Peter raises his eyebrows and turns away from a still very angry Remus, towards James, but just as he wants to say something -

"Wotcher, guys."

There is a pop and in the middle of the small living room, and Sirius appears; the three of them jump at the sudden intrusion, drawing their wands from one second to another. They stare at Sirius in disbelief, but calm down relatively quickly again.

"It's a wonder no one's stunned you," Peter informs him, a bit breathless. "Be a bit more cautious next time, Pads."

"If I remember," Sirius shrugs off and sits down on the floor beside Peter, looking expectantly at James. "Where's my beer? I told you I'd need one. You know what a monster Remus is when it comes to beer."

"And fags," James adds and grins apologetically at Remus, then gets up into the kitchen. They hear the refrigerator-door open and close, and James returns with a beer in his hand, handing it to Sirius. "It's great to be here, just the four of us. Feels like good ol' times."

Remus, all the while, has sat in his couch and simply glared at them; by now he has the other half of the cigarette in his mouth, puffing on it soundly, therewith calming his nerves. Usually he does not react in such ways, but they kept bringing up this one particular topic that often - he just got sick of hearing it. Leaning back, he lets their voices wash over him, lulling him into a pleasant sort of trance. Just as his eyelids start to get heavy, someone says, "Moony, are you listening?"

"Wha?" Remus blinks and then squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to sit upright. "What's it?"

"He didn't listen," Peter says to James and cackles. "We're talking about Sirius getting into the Order and our Moony doesn't listen. Fabulous. Him always being the one to tell us we should be sensible about that stuff -"

"Order? The new Order, from Dumbledore?" Remus turns to Sirius, ignoring Peter. Before Sirius can reply, Remus shakes himself, feeling more awake now. "Sorry, was just halfway asleep."

In the background, Peter and James start to bicker, but Remus does not listen. He watches Sirius coming closer on his knees and leaning against his legs, putting his elbow and lower arm on Remus' leg to steady himself.

"So you're tired?" Sirius asks Remus and smiles at up him. "A hard day, then?"

"Could say so," Remus mumbles and is, suddenly, indeed tired, but his body feels strangely light. He sinks back into the couch and closes his eyes. "Got one of them stupid letters again. The standard stuff, actually."

"Mmmh," is the only sound Sirius makes, and Remus can sense Sirius' hand on his knee, his fingers cupping Remus' knee. Sirius' weight is fully against his legs, and comfortably heavy. Sirius' voice is, somehow, also comforting, all low and raspy, as if he was very tired himself. "You know, when you need money, just give us a call."

"Sirius-" Remus starts, a little annoyed at Sirius for bringing up that topic yet again, and he opens his eyes to snap at his friend. What he sees is Sirius still looking at him, still smiling: a new, soft sort of smile, and his eyes are lidded subtly, and Remus does not know what to say, so he smiles back at Sirius, a little awkwardly. Through the thin material of his trousers, he feels Sirius' fingernails against his sharp knee bone; but it does not bother Remus. For some reason, it is actually quite a nice sensation, somewhat tingly and warm.

What unnerves him, though, is Sirius' strange smile, and the way Sirius looks at him with those eyes for a moment too long, and too intently - it makes him uncomfortable, makes him feeling as if he was naked. Quickly he looks away.

"Pads," James' voice comes seemingly from nowhere, "You wanted to tell us, you know, Dumbledore, Order."

"Oh, yeah," Sirius mutters and licks his lips, looking away from Remus at last, running a hand through his hair. Slightly dumbfounded he seems, but as James throws his socks at him, he starts and suddenly says loudly:

"Right, the Order."

- - -

James and Sirius and Lily have already been here: sitting in the same chair as he does, probably even feeling some of the same things he does. He imagines James, face serious and determined and overly eager, trying not to interrupt the Headmaster, hardly being able to control himself in the urge to ask when he would get his first mission. He imagines Sirius, sitting languidly in the chair, smiling dark and slow, and the words "Of course I'll be part of it" leaving his lips already before he was actually asked, impatience and excitement getting the better of him. He imagines Lily, quiet and calm and listening until the end, before she stands and straightens her robe, and saying that Yes, certainly she will, with an unholy fire smouldering in her eyes.

It is hard to remain calm when knowing what comes; but actually, it is better, since not knowing would yet be harder. And there is still some time, for no one is here but him and Fawkes, the phoenix, in the Headmaster's office. Distantly he remembers the times that he was here before, along with James and Sirius and Peter, trying his best to sound as promising as possible, that he would pay heed to his fellow students, try to keep them under control. Smiling wistfully at the memory, he sighs, knowing this times to belong into another world, into another time.

Pranking and laughing and fun have no place any more, not even here in Hogwarts. Not when outside people are vanishing just like that, when families get torn apart - not when there is a war to come. Not when the war is in front of their doors already, knocking politely at first and when no one opens, forcing its way through the door with violence and torment, not caring about blood and pain and fear.

It is not official; the Ministry tries to cover up, filling the people's head with lies, that all too soon, it will be over, while the shadow lingers in every corner, only waiting for its time to come and then to cause desperation and panic, to tear apart people's minds.

It is not official, because the Ministry does not know how to deal with it, how to reassure people and to give them hope, while fearing the worst themselves.

Which is why he should have valued being at Hogwarts so much more; not for the fun and mischief, but for being shielded to a certain extent from everything going on 'outside', without being lulled into dumb security by the Ministry. Surely the shadow does creeps up the walls of Hogwarts as well (which is inevitable) but being together with people that have yet hope, would make bearing things easier.

Especially the things one can not change, like being a Werewolf.

"I am pleased to see that you have come, Mr Lupin," a soft voice comes out of nowhere, "since there are issues we must deal with, issues too grave and omnipresent to be ignored."

Hastily he sits upright in his chair, puts his hands into his lap and folds them, inclines his head. "Headmaster Dumbledore," he says and stares at the floor. "It is a pleasure to be here."

There is quiet chuckling and then rustling, and he can sense that Dumbledore sits down in front of him, behind the heavy wooden desk dividing them. "Always such formalities," Dumbledore smiles. "But there is no need for that, Remus, as you very well know."

By the sound of his first name he involuntarily lifts his gaze to meet the old man's eyes; familiar eyes, blue eyes, stricken with concern and - expectancy? He ignores the nervous mix of anger and hope in his stomach.

"I hope it is alright with you," Dumbledore says, "if we do not waste time with things unnecessary?"

"Certainly it is, Professor."

"So be it. I am sure you know why I have asked you to come here?"

"Yes," Remus says and his voice is carefully neutral. "I suppose it is because you currently seek members for the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Ah, I see." Quiet chuckling again. "Mr Potter and Mr Black must have informed you already. And they did it very well, as I have no doubt."

"They did," he confirms and knows he does not need to be ashamed or sorry. Dumbledore must have been aware of it, and, maybe, it could have been intentional - but Remus can not help to add, "And I hope it did not cause any trouble."

"No, it did not." And by the slightly contented tone of the old man's voice he knows he have guessed correctly. "Nevertheless, I must ask you to respect my claim that everything we speak about must remain secret."

Knowing that he is being watches, Remus simply nods. Of course there would be conditions.

"Everything we speak about, Remus, must remain secret," Dumbledore repeats, slowly and clearly. "And it must remain secret for anyone but the two of us."

There is silence after those words, and he knows Dumbledore wanted to impress him. James and Sirius and Lily told him and Peter that there were secrets, yes, but they were to be kept secret among the others - thus, the other members of the Order. So to say, he is not really surprised that things will go this way, for he has expected it. After looking into Dumbledore's eyes for a moment too long, he can not avoid it: his mouth twists into a wry smile, and he can see Dumbledore's gaze changing from wary to kind.

"Would you mind terribly to tell me what it is that amuses you?"

"Well," he says and keeps his voice light, "it's just, this was to be expected."

Dumbledore leans back in his chair, twines his fingers together, and watches him over the bridge of his glasses. "You are a sensible man, Remus."

"Apparently, that too," a tasteless laugh falls from his lips at first, but he adds calmly, "And I'm a Werewolf."

"Indeed, you are." The Headmaster's eyes leave Remus' face after a moment, and he sighs and shakes his head sadly. "It is solely a matter of time until distrust would be shed among the Order, if willingly or unwillingly. You know that this is what Voldemort is aiming for, above everything else. And you do know, too, that this has absolutely nothing to do with you."

"I know." The words flow from his lips without much effort; he is far too trained for that. They are words, nothing more, and they do not mean a thing.

"So be it. And now..." Dumbledore looks at him again, this time his gaze sharpened and grave. "I need you to tell me if you are willing to follow these conditions."

"Would there be others still?"

"No," Dumbledore replies, "only this one, and yet this is probably the hardest that could be asked for."

In that, he is right. Already Remus wonders how should tell the others; but then he remembers, he can not tell them anything. Neither that he will not be in the Order, for he is a Werewolf, and everyone knows about Voldemort currently recruiting Werewolves, promising them things that he never even intended to do. Nor will he be able to tell them that he will attend secret missions solely known to Dumbledore and himself; and what those secret missions are, even he himself does not know yet.

A nagging feeling of unease overcomes him; his vision blurs for a moment and he swallows, remembering how he swore once, as well as James and Sirius and Peter, that he would do anything in his power to fight for what he believed in; that they would do anything in their power, and fight with, fight for each other. That they would fight together.

But if this is to be his path, functioning secretly and silent, he knows that hesitating is beyond his choice now.

Trembling, he straightens, hides his shaking hands under his sleeves, feeling ridiculously like a small boy who has stolen sweets from his grandfather, and says:

"I will accept the condition."

This is how things start.

- - -

- - -

_Night from 31st October to 1st November, 1978_

The wind is cold against his face; he opens his mouth and sucks in breath, filling his lungs with air. A burning friction throbs along his throat and chest, and his limbs refuse to function any further, due to the lack of oxygen. Remus stumbles and slows in his movements, his feet numb by the frantic running; squeezing his eyes shut as there is a blinding pain in his lungs, he stumbles over a stone in his way and falls down hard.

Panic rises in his body, and while he draws in air desperately, he hears them coming closer; hissing and growling angrily as they stride forwards, toward him, their movements as frantic as his own, but not caused by panic or fear, but simply by the longing to reach their prey. Dizzily Remus thinks that the speed with which they chase him is uncanny, but should not be; he is one of them, after all.

Breathing heavily, he turns around, and straightens, with the knowledge that showing fear is possibly the worst he could do now. The panic subsides quickly with every breath he takes in, and he waits for them to come. Soon they stop running, to walk slowly into his direction; then they stop.

"Don't dare to get away," one of them growls and steps out of the crowd. "Don't fucking dare that, you traitor."

"Why not?" Remus hopes his voice sounds reasonable enough, while he himself feels all but.

"Because you can't," the Werewolf snarls, and Remus dizzily realizes that this must be the leader of the pack: he can make it out by his height and by the fact that no one else steps forward. "D'you think we'd just let you go?"

"You'll have to."

"You can't," he cracks his fingers and the other Werewolves behind him bare their teeth, "and you won't."

"You'll have to," Remus repeats and feels waves of chill rush through his body. He curses that he is clothed too thin; but then again, this cloak is the warmest he possesses. "And I will."

"You're one of Us," the big, stout Werewolf smirks suddenly; Remus realizes that this man knows how exactly he can fool with him.

"Yes," Remus agrees and as the Werewolf steps yet closer, he sharply draws in breath. "I am."

"And you know the rules." The words are spoken slowly, and with such a mirth it sends shivers down Remus' spine. Remus knows what he means by that: as a Werewolf, he can not simply walk in on a strange pack, and expect to be treat friendly. As a Werewolf, Remus can not just put himself above the hierarchy; he has to obey the rules and can not simply walk away from them.

"Well," he licks his lips, "aren't I a traitor?"

With a dangerous growl and a ferocious glint in his eyes, the Werewolf explodes into uncontrollable rage and fury and rushes at Remus.

But Remus is faster; he concentrates hard, one, two, three -

and Disapparates.

- - -

A moment later, he stands in his own living room, dark and unwelcome and empty.

He is confused; he does not know what to do, now that he is back. Should he write do Dumbledore, telling him that the mission failed? It would surely be the best thing to do. Yes, he should write to Dumbledore. After all, it has been six days that he was last here. Maybe Dumbledore already waited for his report...

Remus turns around, to stare at the window. He does not realize that out of the corner of his eyes, he sees something vaguely moving. He simply stares at the window, tossing off his cloak absently, to let it fall to the floor. Without thinking, he sits down on the floor himself. Thinks about what he could be doing, again. Writing to Dumbledore? But he does not feel like that, somehow. Getting something to drink? Dismissed; he is too lazy to move. Maybe just sleeping? Yes. Yes, that sounds good...

"What the fuck - what do you think you're doing?"

His eyes snap open and he stares numbly into the darkness. He has not even the mind to grab for his wand; he just lies there, face on the floor, eyes big and empty, as there is a brilliant light, directly in front of him. Someone is in this room, is sitting in front of him, with an illuminated wand, pointed into his face. His heart starts to race.

They must have found him.

"Why do you lie on the floor?" The voice is angry and rough, somehow reminding Remus of chapped lips. It takes him a moment to recollect his thoughts and to actually realize that he might be in danger. With his right hand being out of view for this other man, he manages to get hold of his wand and brings it slowly forward, trembling. He can think of nothing else but to attack the other man, to get out of here. Just as he thinks of Apparting, there is a hand gripping his shoulder and shaking him slightly. "What about an answer, Moony?"

It is the nickname that confuses him.

"Who - who are you?" he manages weakly, feeling too tired to sound stout and cold.

"Who I am?" There is laughter, irritated and again rough. The hand leaves his shoulder, and Remus imagines the other man to rake this hand through his hair. Fortunately the wand is being put aside, on the floor, out of Remus' eyes. Remus blinks and shuts his eyes, seeing flashing lights as he opens them again. He listens intently to the other man's breathing, and finds it oddly familiar. Before he can stop himself, he croaks "Sirius?"

"Was about time," comes the curt reply and there are some muttered words Remus can not understand, and does not bother to try. In another second, the living room is lit moderately, not bright enough to hurt his eyes, but not too weak, either; he is able to see Sirius, eyes unnaturally bright, face contorted, kneeling in front of him. He suddenly feels dizzy.

"What - what are you doing here?" Remus blinks again, and as Sirius sits up, he feels stupid to lie on the floor, but does not wonder how he came to lie there in the first place. Quickly he thinks, tries to understand the last minute's progress, but all that he can see in front of his mind is the Werewolf, trying to attack him, and the usual pale blackness that engulfs him when Apparating. Giving up on trying to remember, he straightens and eyes Sirius, unreasonably nervous. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing at all," comes Sirius' answer, dripping with sarcasm. "'S just everything daisies and flowers, can't you tell?"

"I - I don't know," Remus says lamely and instinctively takes a step backwards. Sirius' shoulders are hunched slightly, and his eyes do not leave Remus' face - he is very upset. "Would... would you tell me?"

"Sure thing," Sirius gives a mix of a smirk and a smile, slow and dark and dangerous. As Remus steps backwards, he just steps closer. "See, there's this thing called a birthday. And it's been mine, if you remember, just a few days ago. Well, and you weren't there." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Just wondered where you've been."

"Sirius," Remus says quickly, awareness dawning over him, "I couldn't be there, I've been -"

"Gone? Like, for six days, one week?" Sirius suggests, helping him out. "Without telling anyone? Yeah, I know. Figured out as much."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Remus retorts, now growing angry. "I've been-"

"Yes, where've you been?" Sirius' voice is sharp and cuts him off abruptly. "Care to enlighten me?"

There is a silence, and Remus knows by the sudden twitching of the corners of Sirius' mouth, that Sirius has won. Sirius knows it, too. He takes another step into Remus' direction, losing control, and his grin fades into an ugly grimace; hurt and disappointment evident.

"You don't," he hisses, "you fucking don't care."

"It's not that I don't care," Remus tries to reason, not avoiding Sirius' eyes, "It's that -"

"Tell you what: I don't care. I don't care about your stupid excuses. You've been doing this for two months now."

"AND EVEN IF!" Remus yells then, causing Sirius to take a step back in shock. Remus' breath is going unsteady. "You said you'd accept it - when I told you, even more already than I should - that it would be dangerous for you to know - you said you'd DO IT, you said, you said you'd start_thinking _-"

The last words simply slip out of his mouth. And thinking about it later, he would not have taken them back. But right now, he looks as shocked as Sirius; his eyes widen at the realization, and he thinks of the last time he has said them, of Sirius crying and of himself feeling like shit. He swallows, unable to say anything else. Unable, to even apologize; though even if being able to, he would not know whether he still wanted to.

"You were away," Sirius says then, his voice shaking with anger. "You were away for six days and no one knew anything and you've never been away without telling me before and I've been bloody worried_ out of my mind _-"

"I know," Remus mumbles and rakes a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling older than he really is; feeling tired and dirty and numb; asking himself, if all of Dumbledore's intentions are really worth this. "I know, Sirius. But I can't. I just, I just can't."

Opening his mouth without saying something, Sirius stares at him; observes him. Soon his shoulders sag, and his expression softens considerably and he comes closer to Remus. Not knowing why, Remus is torn apart between punching and something else; a strange sensation, warm and pleasant and slightly tingly, that pulls him into Sirius' direction, that makes him want to embrace the other man.

"Remus," Sirius murmurs, and by the rough sound of his voice Remus looks at Sirius' lips, wondering if they are chapped indeed. He tries not to stare at them for too long, the unwanted thought of seconds earlier returning. Sirius' breath is hot on his nose, and distantly he realizes that that he is still smaller than his friend.

"I'm still smaller than you," Remus says half cheerful and half pained, and looks up at Sirius. "I guess that's your belated birthday present, then."

Sirius gives a choked laugh, and shakes his head. With one arm, he pulls Remus closer, his lips in Remus' hair.

"Wouldn't have to take a present for that," he murmurs.

Allowing himself to close his eyes, Remus inhales, his nose against the slightly scratchy material of Sirius' jumper. He could sleep like that; with Sirius' arm around him, something solid to support him, making sure he would not fall. Sirius' body against his, wonderfully warm and lean and yet soft; Sirius' flat palm on his back, his lips in his hairs, his legs against Remus'.

"Sirius." 

The name escapes his lips before he can stop himself: and all he can think of is how suddenly strange this name sounds, coming from his lips, spoken with his voice. As if he said something forbidden.

Sirius' eyes are glassy and he shivers against Remus, his mouth slightly parted and his hair tousled. He looks nice, Remus thinks unreasonably, his eyes wandering down to those lips. Only now he realizes that they are chapped: but this is somehow nice, too. He leans closer, just a few centimetres.

"R-Remus?"

Throaty, raspy, Sirius' voice, so deep and dark and full, just as his lips - and Remus pulls back abruptly, pushing Sirius away. His heart races quickly, and he can barely form a coherent thought in his brain, but his mouth moves on its own:

"Would take a present, just watch it. Next year I'll beat you off."

Sirius looks at him with wide eyes, his breath stuck in his throat. After a few seconds of gaping, he clears his throat and confusion and something like disappointment vanish; what stays is nothing but a mask of casualness.

"...Guess I'll head over to James and tell him you're back. He nearly freaked out yesterday. And Lily wasn't all to happy either." In a distressed manner, he runs a hand through his hair and avoids Remus' gaze. "I'll, I'll get going. See you."

"Yeah, see you," Remus says to no one; Sirius has already disappeared.

He lies awake that night, his head full with thoughts. Staring at the ceiling, he feels restless and unsure. No matter how often he replays that scene in his mind, he does not manage to comprehend what has happened. Eventually, he finds uneasy sleep, thinking that maybe some distance from his friends will not be that bad.

- - -

- - -

_March, 1979 (First attack on Lily and James)_

Remus has never before seen a corpse, and now he can not look away.

Gidgeon's eyes were a lively blue, but now they are pale and somehow grey. His flaming red hair looks unnatural and gross in contrast to his white skin. Fabian is lying beside him, and the smile that was once full with joy and merry, is now horrific.

Remus knew Gidgeon and Fabian Prewett, and thought they were funny and nice and had the right attitude. But now that he kneels beside them and stares into those eyes that were still twinkling two hours ago, he wonders whether they did not have the wrong belief; they might still be alive. Nausea crawls up his throat: God, he must not think that.

"On a concert," Peter says slowly, sitting on the ground. He lifts his gaze, away from his blood-smeared hand, into the darkness. "They attacked us on a fucking concert."

"They'd attack us while we piss." Sirius rises, and with an ashen face he steps away from other corpses. His face is contorted and he is shaking, apparently considering whether to scream or to keep quiet. "They'd attack us while we sleep, while we fuck, while we eat. We're safe nowhere."

Peter gives no answer, but asks, "Where's James and Lily?"

"Contacting Dumbledore over the telephone," Sirius shrugs. "Anything else would be too dangerous, they said."

Remus does not listen. All that he can see is the paleness of Gidgeon's eyes, and Fabian's smile. Leaning forward, he touches Gidgeon's face with his fingertips, and is shocked at how cold the dead man's skin is. His left eyelid starts to twitch; a stupid habit he has not been able to get control over.

"Moony?" Peter's voice sounds distant. "Are you alright?"

"Nnngk," Remus mumbles. He quickly claps a hand over his mouth, turns around and starts to vomit.

"Doesn't seem so," Peter says absently and starts gazing at his own hand again.

"Yeah," Sirius confirms, his eyes darting over to Remus. Pulling out a cigarette, he puts it between his teeth, without lighting it. He is quiet for a while: arms folded, eyes empty, he just watches Remus vomiting.

Then, all of a sudden, he spits the cigarette onto the pavement and with a few grand strides he crosses the space dividing him and Remus, to kneel beside his friend. "Are you hurt?" he murmurs, expression inscrutable.

He does not touch Remus.

"No," Remus chokes breathlessly and leans his forehead against the wall. His whole mouth feels foul and tastes bitter and his body is trembling, shaky. "James 'n Lily," he mumbles, suddenly aware of that he has not seen them. "Where's them, James 'n Lily, where's -"

"They've gone to contact Dumbledore," Sirius interrupts him. "They're okay."

"Okay," Remus repeats weakly, more to himself than to Sirius. "Okay."

- - -

By the time James and Lily return, Remus feels better. He sits beside Peter on the floor and takes care of Peter's wound on the forehead. Sirius leans against the wall, hands in his pockets and staring at a spot in the sky. They all look up as they hear footsteps coming closer, their shoulders stiff once again, and watching warily into the darkness. Then they hear James' voice.

"Put down your wands. It's just us."

Remus' grip on his wand is still tight, even as he can see them coming closer. When they stand in front of him, Remus scans their figures automatically for any injuries. There are none, and he dares to breathe in deeply.

"Dumbledore'll send someone soon," James says. "We're to stay for that long."

"Mmh." Remus closes his eyes and feels himself relaxing. There is shifting as James and Lily sit down beside him, but no one speaks; they are all lost in thoughts. It is not soon that Sirius joins them.

They are sitting in a circle, either with their eyes closed, or staring at the floor. Remus feels the hard ground beneath him, cold and naked and merciless, and he longs for sleep; with a nice woolen blanket, in a warm bed. Dreaming something pleasant. And maybe, without ever waking up again.

"We'll marry."

Lily's voice tears apart his daydreams. The words are spoken pushy and provocative, without thinking; just blurted out. A moment of utter silence passes, and nobody moves or breathes audibly. Eventually though, Remus opens his eyes a bit, turns his head slightly to Lily, who is sitting beside of him; her pale skin, the deep circles under her eyes, her ruby red hair standing weirdly in all directions; she bites her upper lip and looks so shocked, as if she herself could not believe what she just said. She stares at James in a trance, and James stares back.

"We will, won't we?"

Only now there is a hint of uncertainty in her voice; but she does never avoid James' eyes. James seems to have difficulties in understanding Lily's words. His mouth is agape and his glasses slide a bit over his nose because he is slightly bowed forwards. He says nothing. Remus feels it against his own leg, how Lily's starts to tremble.

And all of a sudden James makes a jerky movement: he creeps towards Lily on all fours, coming to a halt and kneeling in front of her. He brings his hands up to her face, touches her cheeks, her neck and her shoulders, as if he wanted to reassure herself that she is really in front of him, that she is really there.

"I'd like to do something else with you," he breathes, "but there are too many eyes here."

Then he kisses her hard.

- - -


End file.
